Legacy of a Schnee
by Sybaen
Summary: With the Fall of Atlas, comes the fall of Whitley Schnee and the SDC. The young man's future is ravaged by the Grimm, leaving him a refugee among so many other victims after the fall. Now, Whitley must honor his family name by leading those around him with an iron fist. Through the family semblance, he will discover the true power of an army. Slow burn [Whitley x Ciel]


A blistering storm of sleet and snow fell from the numerous clouds that surrounded the floating city of Atlas. Upon the tallest hill dwelt an enormous manor, standing high above the city below it. Like a lighthouse within the ocean, the mansion was similarly lit. A shining beacon in the storm that drew all eyes to its magnificent presence.

If you were to approach, you would hear the low thrum of a quartet. Four musicians of the finest quality, blessing the guests therein with a veritable symphony of soothing tones that drowned out the pitter-patter of sleet against the massive windows.

A young, pale boy with hair as white as the snow outside and his light blue eyes far colder still stood before those windows, lightly swirling the champagne in the crystal wine glass he held. Whitley Schnee was dressed his best, as always. A white long sleeve button up, tailored to his specific measurements along with a cerulean vest and black tie, neatly tightened around his neck.

His white shirt was untucked, laying overtop the aegean dress pants that he wore. His black blucher shoes rested firmly in place as he stood in front of the windows, gazing out into the storm.

'_How droll…_'

Whitley was fatigued by this farce of a celebration. For appearances sake, they had been compelled to hold a gala each year in honor of the day of the beasts, or '_Faunus Rights Day_' as they insisted it be called. As the leading contractors for faunus labor, it was expected of them to show some small measure of decency for the creatures that worked their mines.

The blizzard grew more fierce, snowflakes now coating the outside of the glass. Whitley turned away with a sigh, it would hardly due for the heir of the Schnee Dust Company to be seen staring into nothing. Their guests were equally as finely dressed, mingling amongst each other as they basked in the company of their distinguished peers.

Whitley was sick of it. The Schnees stood above all. Lions forced to dwell among sheep. Without his family's influence, the others here would have to find new master's boots to kiss. They could easily be replaced with a hundred other potential partners, all vying to eek the bottom-most dredges of the Schnee's wealth.

Yet Father had instructed him to practically bow and scrape for the fools. Such acts of prostration were beneath him, and so Whitley had instead chosen to wait out the majority of the affair along the fringes.

Lightning flashed through the clouds outside, striking down against the distant city. In its momentary radiance appeared a silhouette, catching the young man's eye as he turned away. Whitley ignored the darkened shape. It was not unheard of for a stray nevermore to attempt a breach of Atlas's defenses. As always, it would prove a fruitless endeavor. The might of the military could not be challenged by the Grimm.

Whitley abandoned his place of solace and strode into the crowd, deigning the masses with his presence. His sudden departure from his previous safe haven drew the attention of several prowling businessmen, each hungrily eyeing the young man for the chance to potentially line their pockets with lien in the future. The frigid stare that Whitley leveled in their direction kept them at bay, though, as he crossed the marble floor to his father, seeking asylum.

The young man melted into the small gathering on his father's heel as the older Schnee played host for the masses. The conversation was akin to many in the past. A tired tale of civil rights and unwarranted compensation.

'_If the beasts cannot afford to live off the wages we give them, then why do they persist as our employees?_' The suggestion that the SDC paid an unfair wage was absurd.

'_Perhaps the empty-headed beasts are incapable of understanding a concept as simple as finding work elsewhere._' It would not surprise the young man. His tutors had all been quite adamant in describing the faunus's many deficiencies. Creatures such as them required their betters to survive, and the Schnees were more than gracious enough to tolerate them.

The reedy voice of a weasley man reached Whitley's ears, calling out to him specifically from amongst the group. When his father did not answer for his son as he so often did, Whitley was forced to recall the words the man had spoken. '_Some nonsense about following in my sister's footsteps._'

"The military is more than capable of dealing with all threats to the kingdom regardless of my inclusion. Lowering myself to the position of a simple huntsman would hardly serve to bring Atlas the prosperity it is due. The SDC supplies ninety percent of all Dust that the military depends on. My sisters were foolish to believe anything could rival the continued support of our one true line of defense."

"Well said," his father interjected with an air of finality, drawing the amassed attention back to himself. There was no pride in his tone of voice, only a dull acceptance that Whitley had answered without making a fool of himself. It was the closest to a compliment the man would ever permit him. Whitley accepted the nonexistent praise with a false smile of his own.

The young boy allowed his attention to gravitate back towards the windows, where a commotion was beginning to brew. Finely dressed individuals pointed outside, into the storm that lay beyond. Another flash of lightning revealed the object of their fear, the instant before one of the dread creatures shattered through the vast glass pane, sending shards raining down upon those nearest them.

The black mass of muscles, wings, and bone white armor thundered through the gathered crowd, crushing those in its wake as still others fell to the ground, cut down by the massive glass fragments that scattered through the air only to fall like a spray of terrifying and deadly shrapnel.

Whitley stood in place, stunned by the brutal display of unabated ferocity. Those nearest were ripped to pieces in a matter of seconds as the beast tore through them.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder tightly, plucking Whitley from his brief paralysis, his wide eyes whipped in a panic towards the owner of the offending limb.

Jacques scowled across the room, unperturbed by the carnage or the young boy's reaction, "Time to leave."

The older Schnee led Whitley away, through the gathering mass of guards and droids that swarmed from their places in the hallways. A second beast crashed through another of the windows, showering the droids and guards in glass that pierced through flesh and steel alike. Whitley heard their guns unloading as the large oak doors slammed shut, sealing the guards inside with the finality of a closing tomb.

The echoing screams faded into the distance as Jacques ordered the staff on hand to ready their personal Manta for departure. Those that listened ran to obey, knowing better than to deny a Schnee, even in a time of crisis. Within a few minutes, the pair arrived at the landing pad, stepping out into the blistering flurry of snow and sleet that pelted the tarmac.

Bright flashes of both lightning and dust salvos lit the darkened clouds as the Atlas military dreadnoughts battled the swarming winged monstrosities. A retinue of guards followed in the steps of the two Schnees, boarding the Manta as a personal guard. With a half dozen cases of crystallized dust loaded, the ship departed, listing in the squall that pummeled against its exterior.

Whitley was belted in to one of the cushioned window seats. His father stood in the doorway to the cockpit, bracing himself against the metallic frame as he ordered for them to be taken to the military base. It was their only chance to weather out the battle in safety.

In the bright bursts of multicolored light outside, Whitley had but a moment to spot the winged behemoth on a collision course with their Manta, and braced himself, shouting unintelligible warning to the rest onboard.

With a terrifying shriek of twisting metal, the beak of the enormous nevermore pierced into the front cockpit. Wind whipped through the interior as the Manta was thrust sideways midair, its engines screaming as they fought to keep the ship airborne. The nevermore's talons sank into the hull, its weight now dragging the Manta into a downward spiral towards the ground below. Those that had not been seated were thrown around the cabin in a collection of limbs.

One final cry of protest from the ship's engines announced their doom. The starboard engine exploded in a goat of flame and metallic shrapnel that tore the hull of the Manta to pieces. The nevermore screamed in pain as it was caught in the blast and propelled from the side in a fiery ball of black feathers.

Several of the dust containers were caught in the engine's last fiery breath, causing them to ignite as well. Whitley's binds were severed in the blast, a fact that he did not have time to realize before he was ripped from the cabin by the tumultuous force of inertia itself.

Searing pain tore through his chest, the product of dust crystals that acted as shrapnel, piercing into his body. Wind howled by him, his body now freefalling like so many of the other passengers. The ship corkscrewed towards Atlas below, a spinning mass of steel that billowed a twisting column of black smoke in its wake.

Tears could not form on the young boy's face as he fell, the wind dried them out as he stared in horror at the approaching form of Atlas beneath him. The city streets beckoned to him, gravity itself drawing him to his inevitable death upon the paved streets.

A cold knowing gripped Whitley's heart, '_I'm going to die…_'

He tried to scream, but the sound was ripped from his lungs by the air that surrounded him. The young boy's mind went into a frenzy.

'_No! No! No! No! Not like this!_'

A black sigil appeared in the air between Whitley and the ground, slowing his descent. It was followed by another, and another. The young Schnee only subconsciously understood that this was the family semblance at work, his mind was still far too distracted by overwhelming fear.

The Manta impacted the ground first, bits of metal scattering about the street in a roar of heat. The world went dark as Whitley's body followed soon after, colliding into the ground with enough force to render him unconscious. The world faded to black in an instant.

* * *

Whitley could smell smoke and blood as his eyes groggily opened, the blackened sky above him still racked with flashes of the battle that continued to take place. He attempted to draw in a deep breath but coughed as his chest protested with white hot pain. The boy wiped away the crimson liquid from his lips, his formal wear now stained by both soot and blood.

With shaking arms he propped himself up to take in his surroundings. The street was littered with large steel fragments and corpses, guards from the ship and citizens alike scattered the pavement and sidewalks. Cars burned and the screams of distant survivors still echoed through the night.

'_Father…_'

Whitley's body screamed in agony as he began to pull himself across the ground towards the still burning Manta. The first few feet were the slowest, as with every pull his mind threatened to betray him and propel him back into the void of unconsciousness.

The young boy persevered, drawing his form across the ground and leaving a trail of blood, smeared beneath his own weight into the cracks of the road beneath him. With one final scream of feverish determination, Whitley heaved himself through the breach that he had so recently been ripped from. His eyes darted about the cabin, searching for any sign of his father.

A gurgling cough drew his attention towards the tail, where Whitley's eyes fell upon the twisted form of Jacques Schnee. His legs lay at unnatural angles, and from beneath him protruded a piece of the metal hull, spiking up through the older man's lower abdomen.

"F-Father…" blood dribbled from the corner of Whitley's lips and down his chin as he attempted to speak. His vocal cords fought against him, demanding that they remain unused in their current state.

"Whitley… Come here… son…" Jacques struggled to speak around the blood filling his lungs.

Whitley steeled himself and dragged his body across the twisted metal floor, having to wrench himself free and acquiring new cuts and scrapes along the way. It felt like an eternity before the young boy's cold blue eyes, now brimming with tears, were able to look down upon his father's face.

Jacques Schnee reached out a blood smeared hand, grasping his son's in a weak death grip. The older man's skin was already far paler than usual, his breathing coming out in short gasps.

A pair of bloodshot eyes met Whitley's own as his father struggled to speak, "You… must… survive… Whit… ley…"

"N-No… Don't talk like that! Help will be here soon!"

Jacque's head lost its strength, now resting against the metal floor as he continued to struggle, deaf to Whitley's words, "Must… Sch… Schnee… name… my…" the man's eyes glazed over as he spoke his final word.

"Proud…"

Whitley stared into the man's vacant eyes, his mind refusing to believe the truth that lay before him.

"Father…?"

There was no response.

The young man's hand fell upon his father's chest as he weakly attempted to shake the older man back into consciousness, "You can't... leave me!"

Cold blue eyes stared back at him, unmoving.

The aircraft shook as the hull atop creased inwards, a great weight now pressing down upon it. Whitley could hear the grunts and sniffs of the beast above trying to find him. The Manta rumbled once more, the creature leaping off to the ground below, cracking it with a dull thud as gorilla like feet met weakened pavement.

In a panic, Whitley pulled himself backwards, past his father and towards the far back of the twisted aircraft. He grunted in pain, now knowing that his legs truly had been mangled in the previous explosion. A small shimmer of white along his lower half caught his eye, but was quickly ignored as he hoisted his back up against the closed ramp.

The massive muscle-bound Grimm placed a hand on either side of the ships hull, tearing the metal to each side so that it could step into the interior. '_Another one of the gorillas…_' Whitley thought, as fiery red eyes met cold blue. The monster's body was covered in bone white plates, decorated with cracks and fissures webbed across its exterior.

Whitley's hand bumped a metallic object to his left, his fingers instinctively wrapping around the handle, determined to do anything to delay the inevitable. He raised the gun between himself and the Grimm, Whitley's finger already pulling the trigger as he had seen soldiers do. The gun fired, jarring his wrist painfully. The bullet sunk into the Grimm's chest, entirely ineffectual.

Four more shots rang out as the beast made its slow approach. Whitley heard a deep, intermittent rumbling in its throat, interpreting it the only way his scrambled mind could.

It was _laughing_ at him.

'_You think this is funny!? I won't die here! I __**can't**_ _die here!_'

Whitley's eyes roamed the cabin and fell upon a partially intact metal case, its contents partially strewn across the floor of the Manta. The young boy took aim, leveling the pistol's sights towards the case, his final shot dependant on his own faltering strength.

The proud and noble Schnee, mocked by a creature so far beneath him, snarled back at the beast in a primal rage.

"_KNOW YOUR PLACE!_"

As Whitley's shot pierced the exposed case, the inside of the cabin erupted in an explosion of fire, lightning, ice, and gravity dust. The Grimm gorilla was blasted sideways, back out into the street as the dust tore through hull and gorilla alike. The ramp that Whitley had propped himself up against, already weakened by the crash, was also blown open, sending him careening back out across the pavement in a heap of blood, burnt cloth, and dust residue.

Whitley screamed in pain, his breathing once again coming out in ragged gasps as he struggled to inhale. White flashes sparked in his eyes, mirrored by the shimmering ripples that now covered his body. The young boy was no fool, '..._Is my aura unlocked…?_'

His mind struggled to make sense of how this could be, finally determining the reason through the haze that tried to consume his thoughts, '_I used my semblance… The family semblance..._' All the things that his sisters could do were now at his fingertips. '_If only I knew how…_'

The smoking corpse of the gorilla Grimm was the last thing Whitley saw as his eyes drooped shut, his body now far too weak to retain its consciousness. As he drifted to sleep, his ears caught on to a female voice crying out nearby.

"There's no time for a medic! Use the aura enhancers!"


End file.
